


It’s a long way to go

by csiribee



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blind Character, Crime Fighting, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-04-16 22:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csiribee/pseuds/csiribee
Summary: Very AU story where Cassian is a CIA agent, Jyn an undercover cop, Baze a VET, Chirrut a DEA consultant and Bodhi is a nipped off drug carrier.Where they come from, what do they want and how will they paths cross?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I did it again...two fics in the same time... and I have no excuses...  
> Just one: love them and can't help it.

It was too loud. The birds of the forest surrounding the glade were squawking with a deafening sound. They were too close. Or maybe the glade was too small. He could hardly put down the plane and he would barely lift its nose up above the trees. There were large damp spots both on the back and the front of his shirt and his long hair stick to his neck.

And top of all those birds, sometimes smaller monkeys whooped a long gibber. Bodhi would press his palms on his ears to close out the harsh noise if they weren’t busy touzling out the bag from one of the mexicans’ hands. “No, don’t put in anymore! It’s already too much!” The other just looked at him with big eyes and puzzled face. “Esta mucho! Suficiente!” Bodhi tried his weak spanish and the guy stopped. 

Bodhi let out a sigh. At least they didn’t teared apart the bag with the cocaine in it. He really didn’t want that. This one guy stopped but the others kept packing the plane. Bodhi made a quick calculation. Each bag forty pounds, the plane can carry about  four hundred pounds and they already put in it at least a dozen of bags. That wasn’t good! He started to wave with both arms and stood in front of the door. “Stop! Stop!” he said desperately. “Suficiente!”

One of the man tried to push him away. “Space. More space. We put bag. Full!” he said.

“No, it doesn’t work like that!” Bodhi grabbed his arm. “It’s too heavy! I can’t take off!” he explained when he realised it was a mistake to grab the man’s arm. The mexican looked down to his hand than raised his eyes to level Bodhi’s. His face was covered with sweat under his dirty straw hat. Bodhi let his arm go as if he was touching fire. “Ok, sorry. No problem. Everything is fine!” he tried to smile, to grin wide. The mexican just grunted and throw the bag behind the cockpit.

Bodhi pushed his sunglasses on the top of his head and turned away searching for one of the foreman, one of the chefs. Someone whom he could make him understand. Anybody! Finally he saw a tall figure approaching. His immaculate grey shirt followed the lines of his slender figure. Without any damp spots. Bodhi rushed to him.

“Galen, please tell them to stop!” he jabbled hope rising in him. “They are putting in way too much bags. It’s already too heavy!”

Galen studied his face with his deep brown eyes for a long moment than raised one hand up and said on a low but firm voice “Dejalo!” All the men stopped and put the bags in their hands back to the pile.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Bodhi breathed hard and just lurched in relief. 

“We need to talk!” his voice made Bodhi’s  blood froze. Galen backed away a bit from the others gesturing to Bodhi. He followed him cursing those bloody birds who kept singing their ancient tunes. The humidity became insupportable.

They talked about ten minutes while the workers took a rest next to the pile of bags, probably waiting for the next plane to come. Bodhi was pale when he climbed in the cockpit to start the engine. The plane awakened with a roar and he rolled forward to take a turn on the edge of the forest. He checked the panels. All good. 

“It's time to show who I really am, it's time to act if I want to do something good. This is the time if I want to get out of this.” he murmured himself and took a last glance on Galen who was standing there with hands behind his back and a blank face. Bodhi looked back on the space in front of him than up to the trees. “But if you want to quit, you have to survive this! You’re the pilot Bodhi, you can do this!” He gave gas.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First meetings...

Stormriders. That  was written on her jacket like on most of the jackets in the dark pub. In the last year she got accustomed to wear it like her own skin. If she took it down, she would feel cold. Even here, in this stuffy bar. She got accustomed to wear it as she got accustomed to drive her motorbike. She even loved it. She felt something like freedom out there when she was sitting on it and eating up the miles. But this freedom ended as she got off and walked into one of the gang's centers. There she had to be careful with all her words, with every move.

She passed the strippers to walk to the bar. The bartender just nodded to her and immediately opened a bottle of beer to place it in front of her. She smiled at him and he winked back making the teardrop tattoos dance around his eyes. She took a sip from the drink. It was cool just in the right way. A man stepped to him. “The Dog wants to see you.” he said. She just nodded and followed him with the beer in her hand. That’s why she came. The Dog called for her.

The Dog. He was the leader of this zone of the Stormriders. The colony, as they called it. His real name was Robert Harper. Not as scary as The Dog, just an ordinary one. But nobody from the gang knew that, except from her. And that was ok. It was a reminder of who she really was and these kinds of reminders were the pillars of her safety.

“Viper!” The Dog waved to her to step closer. She kept the bottle in her hand as a possible weapon. 

“Dog.” She greeted him. If he had shaved, would comb his hair and put on a suit, then he could have been mistaken with any businessman. But he obviously didn’t want that life, an everyday job, a family and a house in the suburbs. He wanted something else. Power.

“Come, sit here!” he pointed to a chair next to him occupied by a big, hunky guy. “Red, move your ass. Don’t you see we have a lady in our company?” a thick laughter followed his words, because she didn’t look like a lady at all. To emphasise that fact, she wiped her nose in her sleeve and without a smile she plumped down to the place from where Red stood up. “Here, want some?” Dog pointed the small phial on the low-table next to him.

“No, thank you.” her answer made silence in the room. 

“You did well on the last job, you can relax now! Enjoy your life!” Dog picked up the phial with the crystal-met in it and reached to her.

“You want to give me another job. I need to be sober.” she answered than she added as she felt the tension kept rising. “As an enjoyment my bike between my thighs is enough for me, if you know what I mean…” The Dog just stared at her for a long moment then he coughed out a huff, than one more to burst out in laughter. The others followed him making dirty gestures. She allowed herself a smile and leaned back in the chair. She didn’t know why but The Dog liked her.

The discussion took about an hour and a second beer. After she was released she went straight to the bar. She needed a drink. Something strong. She tapped the top of the counter. “Bear!” her mouth was dry even after the two beers. “Bear!” she finally caught his attention. “Tequila!”

“Right there, sweetheart!” 

She swallowed it down without any ceremonie. Without salt and lemon and all that fuzz. It burned her tongue and throat in a good way. She slammed down the glass and caught the eye of a mexican a few chairs away. His face wasn’t familiar. He wore jeans and the leather jacket of a biker but not a Stormrider jacket. After all this bar was a biker’s bar open to anybody who had the guts to enter. The mexican border wasn’t far either. Usually Stormriders didn’t bother until an outsider didn’t want more than just a drink or two. He had every right to be there.

Still, he pissed her off. Perhaps the messy way his brown hair fall on his forehead. Perhaps his said little smile. Perhaps his curious brown eyes. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at him. 

The sharp voice made him rise his brow. “Nothing.” There was something strange in the way he said that short word. Something that warmed her up. She blamed it on the accent.

“That’s why the strippers are here! Why don’t you stare them?” The man turned his eyes away and fought back a smile.  _ Asshole _ , she thought but didn’t want to say anything more. There’s no use to start a fight with an innocent guy who simply was in a wrong place at a wrong time.

She pulled herself together, ready to leave when suddenly the whole bar bursted up. Armed man in black clothes and helmet broke in every door and window. A megaphone spoke. “Don’t move! Put your hands in the air!” It was a useless warning.

Nobody stood still and nobody put his hands in the air. Instead everybody started to move, to run, to jump at the nearest intruder or worse, they started to shoot. The bartender pulled out the gun he kept under the counter but before he could start to shoot a bullet found him. “Bear!” she screamed. It was useless, Bear was already on the ground. 

Bear. Names like in a comic book. Names to hide but also to tell tales. Bear got his name after the gun he kept under the counter - a bear killer. Now, he was dead. Red, The Dog’s right hand, broke out from the inner room with a crazy cry to shoot in every direction. He got his name because he was a real redneck from Texas. 

She was in the middle of her so called friends from the gang so she had to do what they did. Or at least pretend. She pulled out the gun from her boots and started to shoot in the air, above everyone's head while she was running towards the ladies room. It had a small window. She could pass through. “Stop where you are!” a gun pointed at her from close. Too close. 

Viper. That’s what they called her, because she beated off a tug with her viper in front of a pub that belonged to the gang. That’s how she made herself noticed by a former leader of that colony who was long buried somewhere in a desert for who knows what reason. Both of his names were buried with him. 

But now she didn’t even need the viper hiding in the back of her jeans. She just punched him in the face and slid in the toilet. She pushed in the last door jump up on the toilet than the tank to push herself out from the small window. It was just the right size. She knew it because she already tested it. 

She landed on her shoulder to roll up to a squat when she heard the click of a gun. “Don’t move! Put your hands to your head!” she looked up to see how she could escape, but there was no way out. The lonely, gaunt man was in a distance that she couldn’t reach him without getting shot. He stood in a stable stance, pointing his gun right on her. He wore only a kevlar vest with three letters on it. CIA. She lifted her hands to her head and cursed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here they come, my favs...
> 
> WARNING: mention and descrption of PTSD in the first part.

“Tell me about your day!”

“I got up at 6, made coffee, backed a bread, went to the shooting field, bought some dinner and now I’m here.” 

“Oh, yes, thank you. It smells wonderful.” Dr. Mothma said. “You don’t have to bother to make me bread.” she said with a soft smile.

He shifted in his chair. He didn’t bake the bread for her. He just made too much. It was the leftover. “I had time.”

“How was your last mission?” 

“Quick and clean.” 

“I see that it was quick…” He told her the last time that he had a job and maybe they had to postpone their meeting. But it took only a few days to find a lead and track down the fugitive. “...what do you mean by clean?”

“Nobody died.”

“Does it make you feel good?”

He hesitated. He didn’t know what she wanted to hear. What would a normal person answer to that? He wasn’t a normal person and he didn’t know many normal people to ask them. He was trained to kill, that’s what he did for years in the army. Was she asking if he cared? What if he didn’t? That probably wouldn’t point to anything good after all these years.

“Yes, it is.” he said finally.

“Were you afraid during the action?” 

That was probably also something that a normal person would feel. Fear. He read somewhere that the probleme wasn’t that you had fear, because fear you could defeat. The problem was, if weren’t afraid anymore.

“No.”

“Were you afraid of that you have to shoot?”

“No.” He was a headhunter, he went after criminals, drug dealers, cartel members and so on. He didn’t really care if they live or die. And he was good in it. The best. He was good in tracking down those criminals, to find a lead, to follow them, to stay still for hours, for days. But he was trained to be a sniper. He was one of the bests and he had no trouble shooting any of those tugs he followed.

“Were you afraid of getting shot?”

“No.” He wasn’t afraid of that either. “I work alone, because I don’t want anyone else to be injured. I’m on the roof to make sure everyone gets out.”

“So you say it’s not important to you that the wanted person stays alive or not, but it’s important that the members of the law enforcement stay alive and you are not afraid of getting shot for that.” He nodded. Dr. Mothma stayed silent for a while. “Mr. Malbus, is it important to you that  _ you _ stay alive?”

No answer. Baze looked out of the window than down to his hands. Some strands from his hair fall from his shoulders to his chest. He swept it out from his face and remade the bun. Was it important? The world would go on with him the same way as without. This feeling hadn’t changed in the past years. Yet, the depth of his indifference surprised him.

Dr. Mothma understood that she won’t get any answer to that question. She tapped her pen on her notes. “You live alone, right?”

She knew the answer already. He nodded.

“Did you meet with anyone for the shooting this morning?”

“No.”

Dr. Mothma let out a sigh. He chewed his lip waiting for the next question. Dr. Mothma was used to his short replies and she was able to make him discover himself word by word, syllable by syllable if it was needed. The same way she lead him to his own solution, the same way she let him find his own way out to the light, the same way she helped him build up himself again in the last four years. Breath by breath, brick by brick, day by day. 

“We talked about that already, Mr. Malbus.” she looked at him reassuringly. “Last time you said you would try to start a conversation with someone you didn’t know. Just to be friendly.” It was not a scolding just a reminder. Baze shifted in the chair. It was too small to his size. He should have chosen the couch. He knew exactly why he didn’t choose the couch. He wanted to see the door and be covered from the window. A precaution, now unnecessary, but burned into his flesh and blood, almost in his DNA. Dr. Mothma had more patience than he had.

Baze was thinking hard to find anybody, but he could think only one person. There was only one person he wanted to talk to. There was only one person for who he really cared. There was only one person who was worth doing all this. Go to therapy, work, integrate into society, get out of the bed. But he couldn’t say that. He was afraid to say that. Say it aloud. Instead he was desperately searching for memories of the last week and suddenly he could think of a situation.

“I…” Dr. Mothma’s eyes lit up. “...I talked with that nice vendor at the coffee.” he grinned like a child who could remember by miracle to the answer for the teacher’s question.

“How did you feel?” 

Always this question. How did he feel? Awkward. He felt awkward. All the time. Without the weight of his gun in his hand. Without the constant threat, the running fire and the moans of the dying surrounding him. 

“Strange.” he admitted. “I mean after it, it was strange. When I was there ...it came...naturally. It was just a chit-chat about the weather and my choice of coffee. But I was like anybody else.”

She noted something down. “Do you have flashbacks recently?”

“Not when I’m working.” he said cautiously.

“And when you’re not working?”

Right, he knew that. They learned techniques and tricks and how to use distraction. He could lie. But what would be the use of it. “Once.” than he added “For a few minutes.” A small lie. It lasted about a good ten minutes counting what the apartment looked like when he could finally rule his thoughts again. 

Dr. Mothma just nodded. “Nightmares?”

Almost every night. “Sometimes.”

Again, she nodded. “Always the same thing?”

No answer.

He was still turning the conversation with dr. Mothma in his head when he walked straight to the man waiting at the right side of the main entrance of the DEA headquarters. He was still a few meters away when the other rose his head and lit up his brilliant smile. It’s been hardly a year, but he could already easily recognise his steps. Baze felt some kind of pride. 

“Baze Malbus. You’re late!” the man looked in his general direction when he stopped in front of him. 

“Hello to you, too.” offered Baze. “I couldn’t find any parking lot. We have to walk a bit.”

“It’s a nice day to take a walk.” The other said standing up and folding out his cane. Baze put his hands in his pocket to fight back the urge to help him. Baze started forward and the other kept pace, his cane extended at an angle to the ground in front of him, swaying slightly from left to right. It was a busy afternoon but Baze’s stern look, broad shoulders and the other man’s white cane with red marks on it made people move smartly out of their way.

“Can you stay for dinner?” asked the other from the space in front of him.

“That means only one thing, Chirrut.”

“A nice meal?” guessed the other.

“That means I have to cook.” Baze clenched his fists in his pocket to not to reach out for Chirrut and pull him away from the small concrete bench popping out from the ground in the middle of the square they were crossing. He didn’t warn him, because he knew very well that instead of helping he would have just made Chirrut angry. He had to learn to walk all by himself even when he tripped over things at the beginning. Even if that teared Baze apart.

When the cane taped on the edge of the bench in the next moment Baze let out a small relieved sigh. Chirrut halted in confusion and started to tap out the obstacle. He was already good with stairs but still had to learn to round objects in his way. Baze stepped on the right and Chirrut took up the pace again on his side and sent a smile in his direction. “It’s very nice from you to offer it!” they reached the car and Chirrut traced his fingers on the side to find the door. “But you know…” he rose his face above the car, where he guessed he was looking at Baze. “...if you  _ insist  _ you want to cook...we have to do the shopping.” he opened the door and sat in.

Baze stopped with one leg in the car, than he pulled in his shoulders and plopped down to the seat roaring with laughter. “You are incredible, you know that?”

“I know!” Chirrut smiled at the steering wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls note that this is an imaginary discussion between patient and psychologist - I have no idea how does it go in real life.  
> Have mercy...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know---it took so long.  
> But to compensate the time you had to wait - it's a bit longer...

Her jacket was hanging on the back of the chair. She was sitting motionless staring her own reflection in the mirror for a long time. She wondered who she was looking at on the other side. She was angry. So angry she could have pommel with her fists the gray walls. But she didn’t do it. Over the years, she learned how to hide her emotions.

They caught her, and top of that, they caught her so easily. Like that lanky agent was waiting just for her, and she ran straight into his arms. She should have known better. They caught her, brought her in this headquarter, in this tiny room with the two sided mirror and they were making her wait. She had been waiting for too long.

The room was small. Not too small but small enough. If she hadn’t been so angry, the size of the room would have been overwhelming. Like the locker where her mother hid her. She shouldn’t think about that. She should focus on her anger bubbling inside her. They caught her and they ruined everything. She earned The Dog’s reputation. He gave her an important task and they ruined everything. The CIA. They probably knew nothing or very little about her because she had been always hiding.

“Hush and hide here!” her mother told to her gently on that night, so many years ago and locked the door. She was so afraid. She heard sounds of a quarrel, than a loud bang, she had to press her palms on her ears. She kept quiet and she kept hiding. She couldn’t see much through the niches of the locker. Something fell on the floor. Some clothes. Or maybe a body? She couldn't see it. She kept hiding.

She took a deeper inhale. She wasn’t in the locker anymore, she was in a small interrogation room of the CIA headquarters. She was angry and they made her wait for too long. It didn’t matter. They knew nothing.

The door opened and a mexican man stepped in pretending that he was still reading the notes in his hand. She recognised him immediately. He was the one staring at her at the bar before they caught her. He didn’t wear the biker’s jacket anymore and changed into a shirt, but it was him. She didn’t move a muscle.

“Possession of unsanctioned weapons.” he started to read up the charges flipping through the papers. “Accomplice in spreading drugs. Forgery of identification documents. Aggravated assault. Resisting arrest.” a well practiced manner, non-permissive eyes and disapproving tone. “You are Liana Halik, right? The Viper.” he added almost as he was impressed. The accent was the same, even the formal attitude couldn’t cut the edges of its strange melody. He had a voice that could easily be trusted. She had to brace herself against it. 

“Don’t break any sweat!” she replied dryly. “There will be a phone call. Soon. And you will release me.”  

“There will be no phone call.” he said and she couldn’t not notice the little flicker of amusement running through his face before he carefully arranged his lines blank, fully aware of the fact she saw it. His eyes were brown, almost black, a little tired.  “We know exactly who you are. That’s why you are here.”

“Yo know nothing.” she replied with a shrug. She was very well aware that there was a large list of crimes on her report, and she didn’t bothered to hide them. She would be out soon anyway. 

He looked in his papers again, like he had to check something than he read aloud. “Jyn. Erso.” she almost flinched. “That is your real name. An undercover FBI agent.”

She glanced up to study the man standing opposite with one feet on the chair. One thing she noticed was that he was handsome but didn’t show off with it. Even his brown hair was ridiculously not-well treated, strands falling on his forehead. She wondered why she was there. If they were playing this game, that meant they wanted something.

“You know who am I, so you must know that you ruined one year of hard job.” she was pissed off and she let it show. She didn’t know yet what kind of game they were playing, but she wasn’t trying to pretend she was enjoying it. In the past year, this answer would have got her killed, she risked her life for nothing. She wanted her pulse to calm, but her throat remained tight, her heartbeat still throbbed painfully in her chest. “One year is wasted because of you.” she spitted out.

The agent was watching her far too closely but he couldn’t stay silent forever. “It’s not wasted.” he furrowed his brows and his eyes became definitely black. “We have enough evidences against the gang known as Stormriders to put them in jail.”

Time for a diversion, she decided. “And who are you?”

“I’m Cassian Andor, CIA agent. My partner, who arrested you, is agent Kayto So.” He took his time with the reply but it came out easily. Like it didn’t have any weight.

“So what is this, than?” she pushed on.

“When was the last time you were in contact with your father? Galen Erso?” he asked bluntly, probably trying to catch her off guard with an overly personal question. Yet, it was so much more than a personal question. She was almost grateful to be forced onto the defensive, a position she felt far more comfortable with, a position she knew as her own palm.

The answer was easy. She saw him last on  _ that _ night, even if she couldn’t see much through the niches of the locker and after that loud bang everything turned into deep silence. “Twenty years ago.”

He seemed unimpressed by the reply. “When was the last time you contacted Saw Gerrera?”

The hell, she needed to calm down. They knew nothing. The agent, Andor, was just making guesses, playing the bad CIA agent. But he knew nothing. Lie! She had to lie.

“It’s been a long  time.” This was almost true. Andor suppressed a smile considering his next words. Another lie, Jyn was sure of that. They both were trying to do the same thing, staying as close to the truth as possible without giving away what it was. Jyn wondered how many times the other had done this sort of thing. Probably too often. 

“We want  to get closer to Orson Krennic.” he said finally. That was nothing new. She wanted the same thing. “We have an insider. Galen Erso, you’re father, seceded from the Krennic Cartel to make his own. We think that we can get to Krennic through him.” Something told her this was the truth, however she couldn't allow herself to rely on a gut feeling.

“What do you want from me? I haven’t seen my father since I was five.” An innocent truth as an exchange.

“I offer you to work with us. We will figure out how to find him. We just need someone who gets us through the door.” Andor wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead he eyed her with a cold gaze, like she was only the tool for his success. The man was perturbing. She couldn’t get a proper read on him.

“And what if I say no?”

“You will receive your true identity back as the agent who helped to catch a drug-dealer gang and can sit behind a table in the rest of your career.” he shrugged and added when he saw her lips turning into a thin line. “Jyn,” for the first time his voice sounded sincere. “...this is a fresh start. A chance for you to really  _ do  _ something. Please make the right choice!”

Damn that accent!

  
  
  


***************************************************

 

“I know exactly what you think.” Kay muttered to him when he entered into the room on the other side of the mirror.

“No, you don’t.” Cassian replied sourly and dropped the files in his hands on the table.

“Yes, I do. And I tell you if that’s your idea of flirting, Cassian, you will never get laid!” 

“Kay, I wasn’t flirting!” he massaged his temples as a headache rose. “I was trying to rope her in.”

His colleague’s bright eyes glinted at that, and he replied softly. “There is seventy-eight percent of chance that she will pretend to play our game and than changes the rules in the last moment.”

“Than we have to keep our eyes open.”

“I can see that  _ your  _ eyes are wide open!” Kay’s voice was resigned.

“Kay, you are speaking in puzzles!” Cassian groaned. The technical stuff in the room shared curious glances on their bickering.

“I’m just saying that you like her!” Kay leaned closer and said matter of factly.

“I never said I liked her!” Cassian pointed out dryly but it didn’t stop the sarcasm rise in his friend. 

“You don’t have to!”

Cassian groaned again and turned to the staff asking them to replay the whole conversation.  Thankfully, they dropped the subject at that point to fall back into their usual routine, run through the raid of the day and do the paperwork. By midnight, when there was nothing left to do Cassian got up and struggled into his jacket.

Before he left the office he opened once more the file of the girl. Jyn Erso. She wasn’t smiling on the picture. Actually he never saw her smile. He saw only with that fire rising in her eyes, with her jaw so serious, with her temple so concerned. She would be pretty with a smile though, or maybe pretty was a too weak word.

Jyn Erso, daughter of Galen Erso. Galen Walton Erso, who was born on a small farm, chosen into a program for talented youth, graduated at Harvard, started to work for pharmaceutical company where he met with Orson Krennic, who was his boss. Married his university girlfriend, they had a daughter, meanwhile Krennic moved to Mexico and fell in with the cartels.

Twenty years ago Lyra Erso was shot by a burglar and Galen Erso disappeared. The girl, Jyn, was adopted by Saw Gerrera an old friend and an ex-SWAT who got involved in something because of his extreme methods but got along with it.

Five years ago, a man appeared next to Krennic on a photo taken by a satellite. The man was identified as Galen Erso and it was true, his face was very similar to Jyn. Nobody seemed to know anything about him, or what he did for the Cartel but after his appearance new kinds of drugs turned up on the black market including a dangerous one. They called it The Crystal.

They had been watching them ever since but couldn’t make any move even though it became evident they were trying to increase the toxicity of the drug to make it more effective. They couldn’t do anything as politics interrupted. Krennic had powerful supporters.

But now their luck changed. Erso gained independence and isolated himself from Krennic. Now they had a chance. Kay was wrong this time. He didn’t like Jyn Erso at all. She was arrogant, cocky and hotheaded. He didn’t like her, he simply needed her. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here they are again. My favs. <3
> 
> WARNING! Mention of small eating disorder - but don't worry it's only the part of recovery.

Baze boiled water for the tea while Chirrut sorted out the shopping. After he arranged everything in the fridge and on the shelfs  what they didn’t need for the cooking Baze gave him some carrots to clean and slice. Baze did his best to work slowly with the other vegetables but he was still much quicker than Chirrut who was careful with the knife and felt gingerly the edges of the carrot with his long fingers.

“Is this ok?” he showed the ridiculously uneven slices to Baze with a hopeful face.

“Good enough!” he swept all in the pot. “The water is boiled, you can make us a nice tea and I finish the soup.” he grumbled and he didn’t miss Chirrut's relief that he didn’t need to bother anymore with the vegetables. He decided to make a nice veggie soup what would fit the bread he baked that morning. 

Chirrut fumbled with the tea leafs and some moments later he placed a mug on the counter running his fingers on Baze’s arm to warn him about it and sat to the table. He traced the rim of his cup, testing the heat. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, no. Just sit and enjoy your tea. I’ll finish this.” 

“Sounds delightful. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Chirrut admitted with a grin, curling his hands around the teacup.

Baze made a little throaty noise, deep in his chest. “Me too!” he murmured only for himself but didn’t mind that Chirrut heard it. He wanted to make a rich soup and enough to serve several meals that Chirrut could eat the next day. He sauted onion in oil and added all the vegetables, salt and black pepper, some more water. The fresh, tangy smell of chili spang into the air with the crinkly shuk of the knife, and then a burst of garlic was strong enough to draw tears to Baze’s eyes. 

He looked up to see whether Chirrut also had to wipe his nose, but he was sitting still, quiet and small in his chair, elbows tucked in, head tilted slightly, his body withdrawn to focus all of its energy on listening his clattering in the kitchen. A sudden fodness filled Baze’s body at the sight. 

“Tell me about your day!” he wanted to bite his tongue down as soon as the words left his mouth. He was talking like his own shrink, while probably Chirrut didn’t need a psychologist, but a friend. 

But the question filled Chirrut with life, his face lit up, his mouth curved into a bright smile and he opened his eyes. The spoon stopped in Baze’s hand. His expression was exactly the same as was almost two years ago when he looked in the telescope of his sniper rifle with that impish smirk before that catastrophic raid started. His eyes were brown back than, full with life, full with joy. Now only his face and smile was vivid and full with oh, as much happiness that Baze felt he didn’t deserve to see. 

When he saw it for the first time, Baze felt horror how empty Chirrut’s eyes became. They turned milky-blue after the accident, but in a certain light it looked like they had splinters in them that glinted like crystals. Ever since he noticed that he had the feeling that he was looking at some kind of ancient artwork accidentally found in the desert, a beautiful thing that was a riddle to him.

“I had a very interesting day.” Chirrut’s voice teared him back to the present and he grew hot under his collar. His thoughts never used to get this side-tracked. Dr. Mothma was right, he spent too much time lost in his own head. This couldn’t be healthy.

He turned back to continue to steer the soup. “Tell me about it?”

“I met an  _ agent _ today.” Chirrut said on a meaningful voice and Baze snorted.

“That’s not very unusual at the DEA headquarter.” he heard Chirrut chuckle behind his back.

“ _ He _ was different.”

Baze rolled his eyes with a sigh, but he still asked the question Chirrut wanted to hear. “Why was he different, than?”

“ _ He _ was a CIA agent.”

Baze turned to his friend to see him smiling up to the ceiling. ”What did he want from  _ you _ ?” it came out harsher than he wanted.

Chirrut just took a deeper inhale and his smile didn’t fade away. “He asked me to work for them.  _ With _ them.” he rectified.

“What case?” Baze grumbled.

“You don’t approve.” Chirrut bowed his head like he wanted to read the future from the few tea leaves accidentally slipped in his cup. Baze didn’t like the idea at all. One thing was that Chirrut returned to the DEA as a consultant. He was familiar with that job, he knew well the cases, as he was one of them. But the CIA? No one knew what they were doing, and they was at least as shady as the criminals they were pursuing.

“What case?” Baze repeated the question.

“A case I was working on when I was still an active agent.”

“Which is?”

“Galen Erso, the key to the Krennic Cartell.” The name, popped up from the past, worried Baze. He never used to think of it unless he consciously allowed himself to, but now it caught him off guard and let the unwanted memories of an explosion rise to the surface. He grunted.

“You want to do it.” he said after he shook out from his head the pictures that clenched his heart.

“I’m familiar with the case. We stand better chance together.” Chirrut shrugged.

“If the case is all he says it is.”

That stopped Chirrut for a moment. “You think he lied?”

“I’d rather say he didn’t tell the whole truth.” he studied Chirrut’s face.  “Did you trust him?”

“Not for a second.” Chirrut grinned wide. “But I had a feeling that he is on the right path. A path, that I have to follow.”

Baze sighed again. Chirrut and his ‘ _ feelings _ ’... “The soup is ready. Let’s eat.” he announced sorting plates and spoons from the cupboard and placing the hot pan in the middle of the table. He sliced the bread and filled the plates with the soup smelling invitingly.

“Plate in the middle, spoon on your right. Here is the bread.” He dragged one of the chairs and tasted the bread.  _ Delicious _ . He couldn’t help but wait for Chirrut to took a bite. Baze was happy to witness that private moment. Chirrut’s face went smooth and unwrinkled as he tasted the bread.  _ His _ bread. He slid his tongue around his mouth after he swallowed, savoring the aftertaste, and then sighed. He turned in the general direction of Baze next to him, his shoulder close enough to Baze’s to feel his warmth through the fabric of his shirt, or at least Baze imagined he did. 

“Cornbread.” Chirrut smiled. “Your hands are blessed.” his kind words rose a sudden anger in Baze. 

“Don’t say that!” he snapped. Chirrut furrowed his brows at the tone. “My hands are damned. They killed so many times.” he added quietly.

The worry disappeared from Chirrut’s face and tender understanding replaced it. He reached out to his arm to run his hand down and place his fingers gently on his hand. “They did. To defend others. And they can also be soothing and give comfort to those in need. Never forget that.” he said softly in a tone that seeped into Baze’s bones. The touch lingered way longer than it was necessary than Chirrut pulled back and grabbed his spoon. 

His words echoed in Baze’s head. He kept his feelings buried for so long now that he was almost surprised of their intensity. A feeling of something, of belonging somewhere, to somebody, maybe. But still, he had no right to ask, however he longed so much it hurt.

He stared at Chirrut spooning in slowly the soup. Maybe that was his diagnose. Maybe that was all. Maybe he was just a lost soul longing for somebody. Maybe he was just a lost man who didn’t want to risk a friendship by asking for more. He tried to tell himself he should count himself lucky. He was there with Chirrut and Chirrut was lucky, too. Lucky, that he was alive and was able to learn this new life. 

“I have to leave tonight.” Baze declared suddenly. “I have a fresh track to follow.” he said to his soup.

Chirrut placed his spoon and the bread down. “Maybe…” he spoke to the sink on the other side of the kitchen in front of them. “...maybe when you come back, you could bring me with you to the shooting field.”

“What for?”

“To shoot. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Why would you need that?”

“Maybe I will need it during my new assignment.”

Baze digged his spoon between the hot vegetables the soup was rich with and continued to eat. “I blind man couldn’t do much damage with a rifle.” he said matter of factly

“Not everyone is obsessed with huge guns, Baze. I was thinking of something smaller.”

Baze expressed his displeasure with a grunt. “For a small caliber you have to let them close.”

“That’s exactly the point.” Chirrut nodded and Baze gorged down the half of his bread and wondered. That made sense. From close Chirrut could hear them. His hearing was already admirable and could tell where people are only from their breathing and from those little noises they made that weren’t audible to others.

He took a better look on Chirrut determined and in the same time bratty face. Yes, he could use a small gun if it would be necessary. But he was still thin, fleshless. Baze remembered the time when he could finally leave the hospital. He was mere skin and bone, the long recovery ate up his muscles and he didn’t gain back much. Baze knew why. Chirrut was still getting used to the taste of the food he couldn’t see anymore and he didn’t, couldn’t eat much. Cooking together and eating together helped somewhat, but not enough. Like at that moment. Chirrut’s plate was almost full as if he didn’t touch it and half of his bread was still there. 

Baze considered for a moment. If he didn’t help, Chirrut would probably ask Luke or Arthur to go with him to the shooting field, which was an even worse solution. He made a quick decision.

“I'll be away for more than a week, maybe for two weeks.” the sudden change of subject confused Chirrut. “If you pick up some weight till I come back I’ll take you to shoot.” he finished.

Chirrut smile faded. “Weight?” he muttered and Baze thought he sounded lost and vulnerable. Baze kept staring at him, wanting to look behind his armour, but Chirrut didn’t turn his head toward him. The late sun painted his skin golden. Baze already saw far more of him than he was willingly showing but it didn’t feel wrong. 

“Deal?” Baze asked leaning closer. He clenched his fistst on the table to prevent them from going anywhere they shouldn’t, to prevent them to reach out for Chirrut.

“Deal.” said Chirrut with great determination. He bit his bread and swallowed three more spoonfuls of soup. “Take care of yourself and let me know when you’re back.”

“I will.” Baze said with the certainty that he couldn’t stay away anyway, not for a minute.


	6. Chapter 6

The girl, after she found that cosy coffee nearby the CIA office, ran by an enthusiast couple,  always went there. Cassian knew it, because he followed her every time, but this was the first occasion he followed her inside. The case didn’t move forward, they didn’t get any closer to the Krennic cartel and he wanted to talk with her.

The tiny bell rang softly when he entered and stepped inside. Jyn didn’t look up just took a sip from his mug and scrolled her phone. The woman in front of the coffee machine took a good look at him and asked: “An espresso?”

“If you don’t have anything stronger, than yes, please.” he nodded.

“A double than.” she smiled and started to prepare the order. “You can sit down, I’ll bring it out.” she added. Cassian looked around. He could say he came to this coffee and sat down at the neighbouring table by accident, but that would be a lie and Jyn would know it. So he just pulled out the other chair and sat at Jyn’s table.

“I thought you would never come in, agent Andor.” she leaned back on the chair.

“It’s  _ captain _ . But I told you already you can call me Cassian.” 

Of course she didn’t say hello or ask why he was following her. Perhaps it was obvious, he didn’t trust her. As he was sitting there he realised he was also curious about her. She lied straight to his face every time and Cassian understood why. Maybe it’s time for Cassian to be honest. Trust goes both way.

“So, how do you like the paperwork?” he offered a casual topic. 

“Terrible, thank you for asking.” she said without a pace raising one eyebrow. She was not going to make it easy for him and he would have been disappointed if she did. 

“I hear that our colleagues don’t like you either.”

“I don’t want to befriend with them.” she snapped.

Cassian tilted his head considering. “Perhaps that is the reason.” a weak joke but slowly her lips curved up into a smile. Pretty was a weak word, indeed. Jyn Erso was beautiful. Cassian swallowed and was glad that the women arrived with the double espresso and placed it in front of him. He stirred the hot liquid and the strong smell of freshly roasted coffee hit his nose. Jyn had a good taste, it was a very good coffee.

“I’m sure you’re not here for a hot drink.” the girl said as if she was reading his thoughts. He became concerned for a moment. “So tell me, what do you want!”

“To know you better?”

“Everything is in my files.” her spoon clanked loudly on the table.

“I mean  _ you _ . Not your files.” that made her sigh in an angry way but she didn’t protested. Cassian took it as a good sign.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” something provocative and there it was, that angry spark in her green eyes. So predictable. 

“Didn’t your mother teach you that you don’t ask a lady that?”

He shrugged and suppressed his smile in the coffee. “No. She was long dead by the time I had any interest to ask a woman anything. So the answer is no.” He replied flatly. If he played well, then Jyn could think he would only cover his sadness. Of course this was a sad story and a true one, but it wasn’t important at that moment. A truth for a truth, that was what he wanted.

She eyed him for a moment with a very strange look than shook her head. “I don’t have a boyfriend. And don’t tell me you asked me this question because you have any interest on me.” 

He took a deep breath. Of course he didn’t have any interest in her. “I wanted to know if I guessed right,” he replied.

“It wasn’t hard to guess. I spent the last year undercover.” her voice was dry and her eyes was on him. “Do  _ you  _ have a girlfriend?” 

“Well, that’s not hard to guess either…” she was waiting for him to continue. “...with this job.” 

She laughed then fell silent looking in his cup. “Do you miss her?” she asked so quietly at first Cassian didn’t catch the words, but they settled in before she went on. “Do you miss your mother?”

The question was painful, reaching down to a place that Cassian kept buried for so long. “What about you?” he tried to push back the question, but he let out a sigh when he saw her narrowing eyes. She didn’t have to say out loud the obvious: she asked first. “I was too small, when I lost my parents, I can hardly remember what they were. I just remember somebody bending over me when I was in bed, or the smell of the hot milk in the morning.” he shook his head tucking back the memories where they were belong, a tiny, hidden place in the back of his mind. “I didn’t want to play out the card of the man with the tragic childhood.” he smiled.

“Wouldn’t have worked on me.” she replied after she held his gaze with than took another sip from her mug. .

“No? Are you that heartless?” he tried to play the flirty and from her empty smile it seemed she didn’t appreciate it. 

“You know  _ my _ story. It’s not a novelty what you say.”

“Right. Now I feel like a whiny boy.” he muttered. That’s not the impression he wanted to make. Actually he was quite confused what impression he wanted to make on that girl. Jyn. What would be the key to her? He didn’t meet many people, especially women, who he wouldn’t have  seen through. But she was like that and it annoyed him

“How long have you been here? The States, I mean?” he looked at her with a puzzled face. “I mean...you have an accent. Mexican.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “A mexican can’t be a CIA agent perhaps?”

“Not impossible, just unusual. I think you got in trouble in Mexico and this is just a cover story.”

“Ever heard the term drug-war?” 

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “What do you think I did in the last years?”

“In some places, it actually  _ is _ a war. I just want to end it, whether I’m from Mexico or not, and I work there where I can do the most for it.” he wasn't able to take the bitterness out from his voice. Here, they were just scratching the surface while there were other places where people died because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. People didn’t like to hear that the world wasn’t perfect and the bad guys weren’t sitting behind bars but walking around with huge flints. That was why her next sentence caught him off guard. 

“There is a a nipped off drug carrier.”

“What?” he asked a little stupidly.

“There is a drug carrier who ran away.” she repeated herself. “The Dog asked me to find him.”

Cassian straightened in the chair. “And you are telling me this only now? After two weeks?” he knew that he couldn’t trust her. 

“Yes.” She said bluntly. “I didn’t want to start my  _ new job  _ with giving a false information. I wanted to be sure that he is really running.”

“And?” 

“He is.” she braced herself on her forearms leaning closer.

“Do you enjoy this?” It was more a statement than a question . The girl deserved this little victory. He wasn’t cautious and she used every little niche she could find and worked on this case in secret. She had an info and she gave it to them, to  _ him _ , only when she decided to hand it over. Cassian wondered why then? She might have disappeared with the information to find the carrier alone. But she didn’t. Probably she stuck. Still, it was a great risque, the cartell could have found him before them. “So?”

“His name is Bodhi Rook and I’m sure he has already reached the city. He is somewhere here, in the middle of Jedha.”

“So you lost track?” a small smile was playing around Cassian’s lips he couldn’t hide. “For a moment I thought I melted your heart.”

“Well, at least now we can work together. That’s what you want, right? You can be satisfied now.”

“I am.” Cassian nodded but he wasn’t satisfied at all. He needed her to find Krennic but it seemed she needed him too. That meant only one thing: he still couldn’t trust her.


	7. Chapter 7

Baze hated the place. The smell reminded him to those small hiding places he had to spend hours or sometimes even days, next to the other members of his squad, living or dead. The sour smell of sweat and dirt of unwashed bodies, mixing with the heavy smell of cheap, poorly made food. His thoughts were wandering, rushing off into wildly undesired directions.

He had to focus. He became careless. Even if he couldn’t hear all his witty replies, Baze was pretty sure that he didn’t miss any smile of Chirrut, any crinkle of his face or any of his gestures. But he wasn’t sure how many exits there were to the place and he had to grip the ladle a little bit harder. The door they came in and probably there was a service entrance back in the kitchen. There was a corridor leading who knew where, but with windows, which was good, and there were stairs leading upstairs with probably some more windows.

He had his back to the wall and could see the front door, which was also good, but not enough. Some knives they used for bread slicing were in an arm reach, one of them could serve as a weapon, but the mess hall was huge with no cover in it, so if there was a gun involved he would have need a miracle to reach Chirrut. 

Baze loosened his grip on the edge of the enormous pot. He wasn’t in the war anymore, he wasn’t after a fugitive neither, and Chirrut could take care of himself, there was nothing to worry about. He let out a growl, almost scaring away the next shabby man in the line. 

After they finished at the shooting field Chirrut asked him to drive him to the homeless service for the usual Sunday food charity, and if he was already there, he could even help. He received a ladle and started to fill the empty plates while Chirrut went out to the tables to serve tea. Chirrut carelessly chatted and mingled with the indigent eating their free supper, but Baze felt awkward as usual.

He was more comfortable at the shooting field. It turned out that Chirrut was able to shoot and hit a target more than good with a small caliber gun. But only what was right in front of him. Than they had to figure out how to find and hit those targets that weren’t in front of him. Baze started to throw small stones against them and Chirrut used his hearing to aim them. After one hour, the result was encouraging, Chirrut hit more target than he didn’t. 

He was glowing with satisfaction but Baze wasn’t. The targets were just a few steps away, too close for his liking. Chirrut said next time they could place them farther and Baze wished he hadn’t needed another occasion. It was irresponsible and stupid and he let Chirrut risk too much with this. He shouldn’t had encouraged him on the first place. 

He glanced angrily at the plate of the man in front of him, despite the fact he wasn’t the one to blame that Baze couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t able to say no to Chirrut. Not when he felt oddly calm in his presence, peaceful, trying to drown out every moment spent together like his life depended on it. Chirrut felt always familiar and strange at the same time and his feelings scared Baze to death but he couldn’t stay away. It had been too long since felt that there was something for him in the universe.

Chirrut scared him to death with his restlessness, his stubborn faith in the joy of life and his wit. When Baze was with him, he felt far from the terror he used to live in, from the blood on his hands, from the weight of his gun on his back. He looked up and caught Chirrut’s gaze half by accident as Chirrut humbly helped to a poor older man to sit down. His eyes were bluer in that light somehow. 

Chirrut scared him in a way that nothing scared him before but he was able to breathe next to him and he didn’t want let that go, he wouldn’t let Chirrut go. That was about the only thing Baze was sure of at that point. He filled with determination the plate held in front of him with the stew.

“Mr. Malbus.” a woman’s voice teared him out from his own head.  _ Focus Baze _ !

“Yes, ma’m!” Chirrut introduced her as the leader of the shelter. A smaller woman stood next to her, almost hiding behind her back. Baze tried to smooth out his grim face.

“You came with Chirrut, right?” the elder woman asked gesturing toward the middle of the mess hall. Baze followed her gaze to realise that the line was much smaller in front of him than in front of the other helpers who served food. He swallowed.

“Yes.” He had to be friendly, Dr. Mothma’s words echoed in his head. “And I’m more than happy to help.” he added.

The woman let out a small sigh and smiled. “And we are very grateful for every helping hand, Mr. Malbus.” she stepped closer and lightly touched his elbow. “Why don’t you help Chirrut and refill his jug with tea? Sister Mary will replace you here.” she said gently pulling him away from the huge pot and Baze followed suddenly feeling like a little boy under his mother’s caring touch. 

The chatter stopped at the table when he stepped to Chirrut with the giant jug. “I brought some more tea.” he rumbled feeling awkward again in the crossfire of the  startled eyes. 

“Just in time!”  Chirrut was the only one to cheer up. “Here everyone! Meet my friend, Baze!” he announced and a choir of voices repeated after him. “Hello Baze!” 

He grumbled something back.

“Is he a cop, like you?” a man with a shaggy hair on the other side of the table asked.

“Oh, no!” Chirrut waved the question away. “Baze was never a cop! But still! If you are in crime I won’t suggest you to meet him on a dark street.” he said on a meaningful voice than cut the edges of his words with a wide grin what liberated the tension and made everyone around add some jokes. Chirrut continued his work, to fill the mugs with hot tea. He slid his fingers on the table to find the next one, when they hit something else.

“What have you here old Sam?” he turned to the man sitting in front of him. “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”

“They are  _ sunglasses _ !” the man’s smile revealed his toothless mouth. 

“Nice!” Chirrut smiled back.

“It’s a Ray Ban. Best quality!” nodded tha man proudly.

“Where did you find that in the middle of winter?” another man asked on a rusty voice, giggling.

“I didn’t find it. A man gave me in exchange for my services.” he earned big laugh and some dirty jokes.

“What did you do to earn it?” asked Chirrut to prevent further suggestive remarks.

“You know, I sell those maps in the Central Cemetery with the names of the celebrities buried there.” Baze snorted, but it seemed nobody else cared that probably those maps were for free. “But the map didn’t mention the name he was looking for. He didn’t have any more money and he paid me with his sunglasses for the information. He told me that it is the best quality. He said he was a pilot. And pilotes use only the best quality of sunglasses.” he added with a nod.

“Who was he looking for, your pilot?” every ear around turned to them to hear the story. They didn’t get only warm  food, shelter and some care but some entertainment as well. Baze could swear it was one of their best days. He was sure that the old man found the sunglasses in the junk and just invented the story. What would a pilot do in a cemetery without money after all? 

“He was looking for a name that wasn’t on the map.” the old man repeated to increase curiosity. “He was looking for the grave of Saw Gerrera.” Baze stiffened and he saw Chirrut go very still next to him, his mouth turning to a thin line, the blood running out of his face.

“What did the man want at Saw Gerrera’s tomb?” Baze growled through his gritted teeth.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” winced the man turning to him and pulling himself smaller under the weight of Baze’s gaze. “After I showed him the place on the map, he went away. Probably he will go back later.” Baze wanted to say something but Chirrut tugged him by his arm.

“We need to refill my jug!” he said in an urging voice and Baze followed him although the jug was full in his hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked when they stepped in the surprisingly small kitchen.

“I want to get out of here.” Chirrut said in a quiet, odd tone and Baze didn’t blame him. He couldn’t either put in a coherent sentence all the things rushing through his head. “I’m tired. It was a long day.” Chirrut added on a more measured tone matching with is measured moves as he found his way out telling some apologise to the nuns.

Baze followed him drawing a breath of cool night air a little too desperately. Public areas like that were still not for him, as it would seem. They fell beside each other in silence till they reached the car. 

“I wonder what does a pilot want at Saw Gerrera’s grave.” said Chirrut after they sat in, like they didn’t both know how much of a charade it was.

“Yes. I wonder about the same thing.” Baze replied nonetheless. He also wondered who they were playing this game for, but if Chirrut didn’t want to talk about  _ that _ , he could play along and pretend.

Chirrut nodded and buried his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. The streets were quiet, almost empty, as on every Sunday and Chirrut shivered in his seat. Without really thinking about it Baze put one hand on his arm and squeezed it because he was fool and selfish. Chirrut didn’t seem to be shaken by that, just huffed softly. Some part of Baze was slightly surprised at how Chirrut turned to him letting linger the touch, because it spoke of trust. Another part of Baze jolted in happiness and wanted more.

“You can come upstairs if you want.” Chirrut said when Baze stopped the car in front of the building where he lived. He looked in his general direction in that intent way like he could see through his skin. For the fraction of a second, Baze understood that Chirrut again revealed more of his vulnerability than he really intended to, but then Chirrut lips curved into a shy smile and the thought slipped his mind.

They were so close and all his brain seemed to know is to inform him of all the little changes of his face and the way the light was reflected in his eyes. He had no idea how many cars have passed, if there was anyone sitting in the nearby parking vehicles or if they were alone in the sidewalk or not. His heart was beating too fast. Still, beside all that, he sensed there was something carefully guarded in Chirrut’s expression when he said it, too softly for it to sound casual. 

“For a coffee?” he offered, on a hoarse voice, breathless against all his effort.

“For coffee, tea, anything you want.” Chirrut replied and added softly. “Please!” Once again, Baze couldn’t say no to him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been AAAGGEEESSS. I know. But here you go.

“You’re a good friend.” sat down Cassian in the chair on the opposite side of Kay’s table.   
  
“Yes, I’m aware.” Kay didn’t miss a beat. “I wonder though why are you telling this to me right now.” Cassian scoffed and made a full turn with the chair.

Galen Erso’s appearance in the cartel was just as sudden as his evanishment. Why did he join five years ago? Where had he been in all those years before? Why did he isolated himself now? It was clear, even without evidence, that he was the brain behind the new drug, the Crystal. Did he went rogue? That wasn’t impossible, but it was too risky. Why did he step out from the cartel when he could take it over from the inside? What would be the profit from this kind of action? Krennic didn’t change his behaviour much since Galen left him, which probably meant he was still doing whatever they were doing.

These thoughts hadn’t left him since he said goodbye to the girl the day before. It was pointless. He needed to check the files again.

“What the hell are you up to?” Kay sounded bored but the way he crossed his arms meant he was prepared to hear something what he didn’t want to hear.“I hope you’ve found a track to that drug deliverer, that Rook.”   
“No. Not yet.” he sighed. “I want to have a look in Galen Erso’s file. See if you’ve missed anything.”   
  
“If I’ve missed anything? Are you kidding me?” Despite the fact that he was an incredible pain in the ass, Kay was his friend and was the most accurate to check every detail. “ I cannot recall that someone dropped you on your head in the orphanage, so it must had happened before we met.”

Cassian didn’t had to suppress a laugh. He's used to Kay’s dry jokes. The truth was, they weren’t jokes at all. “What if Galen Erso isn’t helping to the cartel?”

“Of course he does! It was him who developed the Crystal.” Kay shook his head. “He probably created something more powerful, easier to spread. He left the cartel to work for himself, he found the way to smuggle in the country and a gang to spread it.”

  
“Exactly. Too quickly. I mean… new types of drugs don’t appear every day. You need time to figure everything out and he did all those in almost a week. Even if he planned it he couldn’t have been _ that  _ quick. I think he still uses the cartel’s ressources. And now there is this drug deliverer who vanished. Why now?”

Kay sighed. “What are you getting at?”   
  
Cassian glowered at him. “Look, it’s a hunch. What if the new drug is just a detail? What if he works against the cartel?”

  
“Cassian, what the hell are you talking about? Are you trying to tell me that he wanted to put Krennic behind bars all the time?”

“What if he was forced to help and now he has found a way to get rid of them?”

Kay flashed him a rather humourless smile and leaned back in his chair. “The girl told you all this?”

“No, she didn’t tell anything about her father.” the chair creaked angrily when Cassian shifted his weight. “And for the record, I don’t trust that girl.”

“And for the record, it’s not about trust...” Kay stood up and searched for the files in the archives. He dropped them on the table with a blunt smack after he found them. “You became sentimental. You’re family was innocent when they were murdered, but it doesn’t mean that everybody is innocent.” 

“I am aware of that!” Casisan cut him off quietly. He wasn’t aware his friend believed that he could be influenced so easily. No. Kay was wrong.  _ Nobody _ was innocent. Everyone he’d ever known had something to hide. Even his parents had secrets. They lived an honest life, but crime had found them. They were at the wrong time at the wrong place and they saw something they shouldn’t have. That's why they were executed in their own home that spring night while he was playing with other kids on the street. He was just a kid back than. There was nothing he could do. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d dealt with this sort of people all his life, he would see them coming and he would catch them. “There’s something that doesn’t make sense. Please, Kay!”

Kay sighed, and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something else, then he opened the brown folder and started to check the data.


	9. Chapter 9

“Let’s play a game!” Dr. Mothma offered. A game? Game is for kids. But on the other hand it was true that he was useless that day. The sun was too shiny on the other side of the window. The air conditioner blew too cold air. It stirred up the dust and the tiny pieces were floating in the yellow, bright rays. Small pieces of dust. Dancing. He had to focus.

“Are you familiar with word association?” Dr. Mothma’s patient voice stirred him. “I say one word and you say the first thing that comes to your mind.” Okay. He was able to do that. Probably. He nodded.

She adjusted the notepad in her hand. “Let’s start with a simple one. Sun?”

A flash.

 

Sunlight reflecting on a window.

A barrel glinting.

Shouting.

 

Focus, Baze! He should think of something other than fight. He had never been a sentimental one, so the first thing that came to his mind mazed him. “Sunset.” he said it anyway.

She scratched the pen over the paper with a nod. “Night?”

His mind flickered to the previous one. He left from Chirrut about ten in the evening to go straight home. He couldn’t fall asleep for long hours. Memories, images from the past hunted him. Sleep came only somewhere around dawn, but it wasn’t redemptive. “Too long.”

“ _One_ word, Mr. Malbus.” Dr. Mothma reminded him sharply enough to tear him out of his head. Again. Nightmares. After a second thought he said “Darkness.”

“Hope?”

Where did she want to lead him? Still, there was no reason to not to tell what was in his mind. “Foolishness.”

“Faith?”

Luxury, he thought. That would tell the emptiness he tried to deny, though. “Lost.” He almost, almost smiled at the young man he once was, filled with great hope and big faith. Faith in what? If he could only remember.

“Fear?”

Images snapped in again and he blinked them away quickly.

 

A man walking to his car.

Shouting.

Gunfire.

Stop!

A hand grenade bouncing on the concrete.

Somebody running.

 

What was that lump in his throat? He was not afraid. “None.” It came out more fierce than he intended.

If he wanted to elicit a response with his answer, he failed. She kept reading on in a patient voice. “Sadness?”

He wondered if it was the same as emptiness and said “Pointless.” Was his life pointless?

“Happiness?”

Dr. Mothma always said that he had to accept his feelings, name them, acknowledge them to be able to work with them. Work. As if his feelings were some kind of task to solve. Well, this one, he can’t accept. “Undeserved.”

No reaction, just the pen running on paper. “Regret?”

 

Somebody running.

Too close.

Stop!

Explosion.

 

He took full responsibility for all his acts. “Weakness.” For all of them. He made many mistakes but at that time that was the best decision he could make. Therefor he didn’t regret any of them. Not one!

 

EXPLOSION!

 

Only one…Constantly put on-hold and constantly working on redeem.

“Home?”

“Warm.” That was a saying or something, right?

“Friendship?”

Pause. “Brotherhood.” Too military?

She wrote it down. “Women?”

Tenderness. That sounded odd even to him. He turned the question in his head and gave the source not the result. “Mother.”

There was a pause, a silence. She glanced over her sheet. “Men?” Baze wondered if there was more implication to this one. Maybe she remembered that he wasn’t into women. And the answer was easy. Longing. However it didn’t came as a word but as a feeling. Would that make him look worse? Probably not, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. "Distraction.” he said instead.  

“Love?”

He could go with the truth here? Only one. That was two words. He knew a one-word answer. It was too much to say. To admit. “Precious.” Almost as good.

She noted a sentence down. She knew more than him. Dr. Mothma was _good_.

Her eyes ran through the page, searching. “Forgiveness?”

Heavy. A weight he had to carry around. And it was heavy.

 

Explosion.

Silence.

Ringing in his ears.

 

“Hard.” Forgiveness. Who should forgive whom?

Her pen didn’t pause as she noted it down. “Alright. We’re done.”

“Any surprises?”

She chuckled. “It was very insightful, Mr. Malbus.” That was what he was afraid of. “You didn’t tell the first thing that came to your mind.” She caught him. He flushed. “It’s okay.” her voice was soothing. “It isn’t a confession. But if you don’t tell the truth to me, at least admit it to yourself.”

 

Sunlight reflecting on a window.

A barrel glinting.

A man walking to his car.

Shouting.

“Freeze! Hold your hands up! You are under arrest!”

Gunfire.

A hand grenade bouncing on the concrete.

Somebody running.

“Move!  You gotta’ move!”

Too close.

His own, desperate voice.

“Don’t go! Don’t go there! Stop!”

Explosion.

Silence.

Ringing in his ears.

 

Baze braced himself against his car catching for air.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, but here I am with a new chap. The story is catching up!

The car was big enough to crouch behind it. Jyn held the gun closer to her chest and looked back to Cassian and Kay standing in the cover of an hot-dog stand. It wasn’t a busy neighborhood. A few cars here and there. A woman crossing the street with a shopping bag, some boys talking on a staircase pretending to be tougher than they really were and a homeless pushing his cart full with dirty bags. 

The old, red-brick building towered on the opposite side of the road, blocking out the sunlight. Just an empty building in the middle of an old neighborhood. No running water. No electricity. Shelter for the bums. Hiding place for junkies. Yet more important. Bodhi Rook was inside. If their contact was right, he was on the second floor. The tip came from a snitch. He saw Rook get in the building two days ago. Just like that. Pure luck.

She hadn't felt so close to him for a long time. To Galen Erso. Her father. She did everything to not to think about him. 

_ “Everything I do is to protect you!” _ That’s what he said. And she believed him. She believed him when she was hiding in the wardrobe. She believed him when she saw her mother through the crack in the door. Her mother, lying on the floor and the pool of blood slowly growing around her. She believed him when Saw Gerrera took her with him. She believed him during many years after.

And then she didn’t. One day she realized she didn’t believe him anymore. She couldn’t remember the exact moment, or day when she stopped believing. But she did stop.

_ “Everything I do is to protect you! Promise me you will remember that!” _ he said. He asked. He pleaded. 

_ “I promise, papa,” _ she answered. 

She didn’t keep her promise. It didn’t hurt. Not much at least. Just later. Many years later. When Saw Gerrera came back to meet her. 

She shook her head irritably and pressed the cool gun to her forehead, just for a moment. It didn’t make any sense. Why Saw had to come back? Why he had to tell her all that? Why than? And what happened that day when they met? It was a trap. How could Gerrera suspect nothing? Maybe he knew about it but he took the risk anyway. For her.

She shivered and pulled herself even smaller behind the car. The squad was waiting for the signal. Nobody moved. Nothing moved. Silence covered the street. Her head just didn’t want to clear. She didn’t have enough information. She had nothing. The only thing she could think of was the memory of Saw Gerrera that day. It didn't hurt as badly as his father’s voice, but it stung the same.

She saw him for the first time after eight years. Saw. He became older, had some grey in his hair, but he was still powerful. Full of anger and will to fight. Fight the world. They met in a park. On a bench. Like two strangers. She remembered vaguely of what he said, only some of the words stuck like fiery pitch.

_ “I have a message from your father. He asks you to forgive him. He asks you to remember. To remember that everything he did was to protect you.“  _

After he didn’t receive any reply, Gerrera stood up and took the stairs that lead to the street where his car parked. Jyn jumped up only after a few seconds to follow him. She had so many questions. Where was his father? What was he doing? Was he all right? When all this was going to end? Just a few seconds and it was already too late. She was in the middle of the stairs when Gerrera reached his car. When he was surrounded by the men of DEA. When he fought back. When the hand grenade rolled on the concrete. When it exploded. When he died. Just a few seconds late and there was no one to ask from. She stood on the stairs, frozen. Not too long, but long enough to see Gerrera was true to himself. He took some of his attackers with him. 

Her comlink cracked. She sighed and turned back to look at Andor crouching behind the hot-dog stand, giving orders, asking if everybody was in position. For the second time. What a control freak! The thought put a smile on her face and she turned away. There were other options, safer options, maybe better options, but she knew well why she rejected all of them.

“Move! Go! Go! Go!” the comlink echoed Andor’s voice and the raid began. She ran after the others to the main entrance then up the stairs, always in a cover. They stopped at the corridor, a dozen agents filling the floor. Two of them started forward, slowly, cautiously and halted. The man at the front gave the signal and they moved forward as one. One of them kicked in the door. 

_ “Freeze! Hold your hands up! You’re under arrest!”  _

  
  


************************************

  
  


Bodhi leaned his head against the wall and cuddled deeper in the blanket, only his nose poked out of it. It was stinky but warm. Not the worst he had ever covered himself with. He ate only last night and he was hungry. But not as hungry as he used to be. In the narrow alleys of the slum, where he grew up. Hungry and cold. Day and night. Always. This was better. This was what he chose. Because of Galen.

Galen trusted him. Galen said he was the only one he could trust. Galen said he was important. This was important. Galen said it was not going to be easy. But he didn’t say it’s going to be that hard. Waiting. That was the worst part. He had to wait for the contact to appear. Ten o’clock in the morning. At the grave of Saw Gerrera. He went there every day in the last week, but nothing. 

Waiting. Minutes pouring away like years. Bad ideas filling his mind. Awful pictures popping up in front of his inner eyes. All the things that could go wrong. All the moments where he could make a bad decision. Seconds where the power of his concentration could weaken. The dreadful places where he could end up when all this ended. He had to fight with the urge to run away. Well, there was nowhere to run at that point.

He had no more money. He could pick some pockets, but he didn’t want to risque to be seen, to be caught. Food from the garbage was good enough for him. He’d eaten worse. He blinked and pulled up his knee to his chest to keep him warmer under the blanket. He peered out the window on the docks. It was a good idea to change his hiding place the night before. It was more easy to disappear among the busy workers of the shipyard.

**Author's Note:**

> Pls leave Kudos if you like it.  
> And share your comment - I am curious all little detalis you noticed. :-)


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